Servants of Rome
by Belle Nuit
Summary: During the reign of the Emperor Shaw, Charles, orphaned and miles from home, is sold into slavery. Work for his new owners brings him into contact with Erik, a fellow slave, gladiator and the rising star of Rome's Colosseum. All human/Rome AU. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

So, this fic is based on a wonderful book by Kate Quinn called "Mistress of Rome", which I recommend you all go out and read. It is also my first real serious fic, so please be nice. My knowledge of the X-Men universe is based on the movies, my own head-canon and little things I've pick up from Wikipedia. But really, this is an AU, so continuity means very little.

This is basically an all human, ancient Rome AU. Charles is a Celt from Britannia (more details on that later) and Erik is a Jew from Germania (yes, I'm fairly sure Judaism hadn't reached that area in this period, but just go with it) whose cities were wiped out by the Romans and were both sold into slavery.

Warnings: This fic will contain slash of the Charles/Erik kind as well as self-harm, dob-con/non-con, slavery and torture (four of those things in the first chapter, seriously, what is wrong with me). There, I have warned you. It's rated M for a reason. And this is Rome, so it's all pretty accurate. I'm not too sure how explicit I can write though, so there may be a number of convenient fade-to-blacks.

Disclaimer: I don't own the book, the comics, the movies, the characters or the actors (even though I wish I did). If I did, XMFC would have ended a bit more like EVERYTHING IS GROOVY MUTANT HUSBANDS AND NOTHING HURTS.

Okay, please enjoy and don't forget to review. No flaming though please.

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><p>Charles P.O.V<p>

"Hmm, a little too deep this time", I murmured to myself, as I watched the blood drip from the cut on my wrist into the bowl I had placed beneath it.

This bowl was much nicer than the ones I was used to using. Decorated with a mosaic of nymphs I think it was. One of the upsides of being a member of the Marko household I suppose.

Looking down, I noticed the bleeding was beginning to slow, so I placed the bowl on the ground and lent my head back against the pillar, allowing the comforting haze my occasional bloodletting created to fall over me.

'A little too heavily' I thought, as I closed my eyes.

But then, wasn't that part of the appeal. The idea that maybe, just maybe, this time I would cut too deep and my life would drain away into the bowl and across the marble floor. Of course, that wasn't the only reason I did it. Eye for an eye. Blood for blood and all that.

"Charles." The shout interrupted my morbid musings. 'Back to work then' I thought, as I muttered a number of colourful curse words in a mixture of Latin, Greek and Celtic.

I tore a strip of fabric from the edge of my tunic and used it to bandage my bleeding wrist. I then pulled myself to my feet, swaying slightly on the way up. Yes, I had definitely lost a little more blood than initially intended.

Careful to avoid spilling any on my tunic, something that my sharp-eyed owner was sure to notice, I emptied the bowl of blood into the bushes and turned to head back into the house.

"Charles, get in here now."

Ahh yes, Cain Marko, my new owner. Purchased by his father, Kurt, to be his son's personal slave, although I was still worth less than the horse and gilded imported collar Cain had also received for his birthday.

"Yes _domine_?" I replied, as I entered the room.

"For the love of Fortuna, where have you been? I've been calling."

"Sorry _domine_"

"Did you cut yourself in the kitchen again Charles?" Cain asked, his beady eyes zeroing in on my bandaged wrist. "Honestly, you are so clumsy sometimes. Never mind, I need you to help me dress. I am attending the feast being held by Senator Kelly and his wife this evening."

I attempted to tune out his description of the numerous wealthy young patrician women who were not doubt attending tonight as well as the well-know Greek poet who was also rumoured to be coming, instead concerning myself with straightening my master's toga and retrieving his sandals. As a result I almost missed the question he directed at me.

"All those poets are dreadfully dull, but it pays to appear interested. Say Charles, your last owner was are Greek, was he not?" Cain asked with a nasty smile.

"Yes he was" I replied in perfect Greek, fighting back a smirk of my own as Cain's face transformed into a scowl. It irked him to no end that I, a lowly slave, was better educated than him, a wealthy Roman who could not even understand Greek.

"Right, I think I am done. Run off and do whatever it is you slaves do with your free time," he snapped as he strode out the door.

"Yes master", I said, once again in Greek. "You spiteful, pathetic bastard".

As I rounded the corner, a large had grabbed my elbow in a vice-like grip.

"Ahh, Charles, just who I was looking for" the oily voice of Kurt Marko whispered in my ear as he pulled me closer and leered. "Come" he said, steering me towards his chamber.

As we walked, I attempted to muster a smile and enough energy for what was to come. While Roman men didn't expect their slaves to be enthusiastic, they wanted them to do more than just lie there. The pleasant haze brought on earlier was beginning to look like both a blessing and a curse.

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><p><em>domine<em> is Latin for master. The feminine form, mistress, is _domina_

So there we go, first chapter. This will most likely be a long fic and I'll try to update regularly.

Charles and co. are off to the Colosseum next chapter, so Erik will be making his appearance soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, first of all, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited or just read this story. Seriously I love you all.

Secondly, I am so sorry that it has taken me this long to get the next chapter out. Uni, work and real life in general have just been getting in the way. I'll try in the future to update this more regularly. On the other hand, I had a couple of good lectures on Greek and Roman sexuality (just so you know, and so I don't sound creepy, they were for my course on Women and Gender in the Ancient World). I can now use the proper latin terms for various *ahem* sexual acts. Higher education at its best.

On a vaguely related note, you know what else has been distracting me, not so much from this fic, but from all the homework I have? Thor. There aren't words to describe my love for that movie, and for how much I want The Avengers to come out already. I think I can add Chris Hemsworth(Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi) and Tom Hiddleston to my list of life ruiners (which FYI, also includes James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender). I'm sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, please enjoy the new chapter.

Warnings: Same as first chapter, although there is some fairly graphic violence in this one, so yeah, I warned you, continue at your own peril.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, simple as that.

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><p>Charles P.O.V.<p>

Although I had walked by the towering and imposing marble structure of the Colosseum a number of times before, today would mark the first time I had actually been inside. Started by Vespasian, the late emperor's father, and only recently completed, it would now play host to the gladiatorial games, organised by Kurt, to celebrate Emperor Shaw's ascension to the throne.

I fought to stay on my feet as the crowds swelled the closer we got to the gates. Being trampled to death was no doubt an awful way to go.

"Would you keep up," Cain growled at me, seizing my wrist and pulling me along, through the gates and up the tiered seats towards our box.

He let go of me to smile and shake hands with a group of patricians, a pair of senators, basically anyone with a purple-edged toga. I knew for a fact that both Cain and Kurt would sell their souls to carry the name of the Julii, or the Sulpicii or the Claudii.

On our way up, we passed a group of girls at a vendor stall clamouring to buy vials of sand, which preserved the blood of their favourite gladiators, or spears, which would be used to part a bride's hair on her wedding day, or the medallions, which bore portraits famous fighters. Portraits of a fairly handsome Nubain trident fighter seemed to be the most popular.

Upon reaching our seats, Cain lowered himself into his chair as if he was the emperor himself, and I began what would not doubt be a long day of waving fans and fetching drinks.

"Wave faster. Come on Charles" Cain complained. "Why on earth is it so hot, it is supposed to be autumn."

The games were supposed to go on all day, which means I had a good six hours ahead of me. My arms were going to be so sore.

At that moment trumpet blasts announced the arrival of the emperor and his family in the imperial box. Although he was a fair way away, and I had to stretch up onto my toes, I could tell that Shaw cut an impressive figure. He appeared taller and stronger than his predecessor, and was at least better looking.

"Father," I heard Cain ask, "Is it true that the emperor is man of secret vices? Only I heard in the bathhouse yesterday that…"

I could have told them that every emperor was rumoured to have secret vices. Tiberius and his slave boys, Titus and his numerous mistresses and of course Caligula, who had slept with his sisters. Not that anyone asked me, though they should have, seeing as how slaves hear everything. Besides, what was the point of having an emperor if you could not gossip about them?

Shaw's empress, Emma, was somewhat less gossip worthy, as reports painted her as a perfect Roman wife. She accompanied her husband into the box, waving at the cheering crowds, a perfect vision in white and silver.

She was followed by the imperial nieces, Raven and Jean, as well as Raven's husband Azazel and a number of other cousins and hangers-on. On the whole, fairly disappointing. This was my first real look at the imperial family and they seemed like any other group of patricians.

Although this was my first real gladiatorial games, thanks to the other slaves, I knew what to expect. The morning passed in somewhat of a haze as I tried to concentrate on the _swish swish_ of the fan waving back and forth in order to drown out the howls and shrieks of the animals and men dying below me.

"What do you think of that German, Charles?" Cain asked.

"Unlucky," I replied, as I heard, rather than saw, his dying scream. Don't look, I told myself. Just don't look.

"You look a little pale. Not enjoying the games?"

"Not particularly," I answered, "must be my Celtic blood, we don't usually enjoy watching blood sports."

At midday, there was a break while the arena was cleared of bodies, the sand raked, and the executions carried out. A line of slaves, criminals and other prisoners were lead out, all shackled together.

The man at the front of the line was handed a sword and pushed towards the man next to him. At the encouragement of the guards he began hacking at him. Looking around, I noticed no one was reacting to the man's screams, I seemed to be the only one paying attention.

Once the second man was dead, the sword was given to the slave woman who was next in line. She killed the first man, was disarmed, and then killed herself. This went on, as the sword moved down the line.

Out of all the bent and broken men, women and children in the line, one man stood out. He was tall, and quite well built. Even from the stands I could see the whip scars that covered his back. The sword was finally placed in his hands, and he killed the man before him with one quick and efficient thrust. He had obviously been a soldier at some stage, or, at the very least, had had significant training.

The guard moved forward to take the sword, holding out a hand and shouting something at the man. It was at that moment, that all hell broke loose.

Erik P.O.V.

The sand was too hot under my feet, the sun scorching on my bare shoulders and sweat stung the open wounds at my wrists and ankles, but I payed no attention to any of that. Instead, I focused on the feel and weight of the sword in my hands. The Roman was still yelling at me to hand it over, reaching out hand to grab me.

I cut it off.

Seeing as how it had been years since I had been allowed to hold a sword, I had briefly been worried I wouldn't remember what to do. I needn't have worried, as it all came rushing back, hand in hand with the anger and the bloodlust, as I sliced and stabbed at the guards that were now rushing at me.

I took down the first one with a quick slice to the throat and I managed to get two thrusts in between the second's armour. I felt a pain along my back as a Roman sword cut in, but it was distant and a slaves toughest skin was on his back. Not that a Roman would know that. Not that they knew anything. They filled their houses and their beds with slaves, yet they never considered we could be a threat.

Although I had taken down about a dozen guards, I was outnumbered and I knew it. As I fell under the combined assault, a great roar filled my ears. Looking up, blinking through the blood dripping into my eyes, I saw the vast crowd of the stadium rising to their feet, cheering and clapping. The last thing I saw before unconsciousness claimed me was the emperor looking down at me, his hand held out in the sign of mercy, with a look akin to curiosity on his face.

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><p>So yeah, please let me know what you think. :)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my god, once again I am so sorry this has taken so long. Real life just does not seem to want me to write this. And to everyone who has reviewed or alerted or favourited, my love for you knows no bounds. I've managed to plot the story out a bit and seeing as I'm on holidays now, things should be coming a bit more quickly.

I have filled a few prompts from the Xmen and Thor kink memes so I'll also get round to posting them here too. Is it sad that most of my fills, this one included, are me filling my own prompts?

Warnings: Nothing particular in this one, just see the first chapter.

Disclaimer: Nope, I still own nothing.

Charles P.O.V.

Cain chattered on as I helped him undress for bed that night – not about the games, all that blood and death was old news. No, Kurt had mentioned a friend of his, a Senator Marcus Vibius Augustus Norbanus, whose daughter Vibia Sabina might make a possible wife.

"I've heard she's pretty, and she has a number of siblings, so she's bound to be fertile. But what Father's really interested in is her name. Their family goes all the way back to the Julio-Claudians. Did you know her father is the great-great grandson of Augustus himself? Descended from a bastard of course, but that hardly matters…"

I barely heard a word. All I could think about was that slave. A German I think, but he could have been a Briton, or a Gaul. He certainly knew how to handle a sword. He had fought savagely, ignoring his wounds and still baring his teeth when they had finally brought him down.

I'd known hundreds of slaves like him. Slaves that drank too much, scowled at their masters and did as little work as possible. Men to avoid, certainly, in alleyways and quiet corners of the house, where there would be no one to hear you struggle. They were thugs.

So why, then, did I almost weep when the guards brought him down? I hadn't wept when I was being sold to Kurt and Cain, or any of the other times I had changed hands. I hadn't wept when the other animals and gladiators had been slaughtered before my eyes. So why was I so moved by this one?

And why on earth had the Emperor saved him? Why would he bother with a half-dead slave?

Erik P.O.V.

Waking was an ordeal. Painfully, and oh so slowly, I managed to drag myself back to the living.

I was lying on a bed. Not a particularly soft bed for sure, because no one was going to waste luxuries on a half-dead slave, but still nicer than what I was used to.

"Can you hear me boy?" a voice asked from right above me. If I could move my arms, I would have hit its source.

"Nod if you can." I did. "Good, now what's your name?"

"Erik" I managed to croak out.

" Erik huh?" the voice replied, "German would be my guess, but the name doesn't pack enough of a punch. I was thinking something like Magneto. Yes, that should work."

"Work for what?" My vision was slowly clearing and I could now see that the voice belonged to a middle-aged, heavily built, bearded man.

"The arena my boy. My name is William Stryker, and I'm a lanista, a trainer of gladiators. Which is what you're going to be. It's not a bad life – women, riches, fame, so long as you last long enough that is. Which you better, considering how much I paid for you. I know why you were going to be executed. Honestly, strangling a guard with his own whip, but I'm curious, how did you end up working on a chain gang in the Colosseum?"

"Started in the salt mines. First Gaul, then Trinovantia" I forced out.

"That explains the strength then. Hauling rocks of salt up and down mountains certainly builds men. But you don't learn how to use a sword like that in the mines." Stryker hinted, but I ignored him, turning my face towards the wall.

" Never mind. Now as soon as your wounds heal, we'll start getting you trained up. First off though, you'll need to take the gladiator's oath. Repeat after me, I undertake to be burnt by fire, to be bound in chains, to be beaten by rods and to die by the sword."

Right before I collapsed back into unconsciousness, I managed to tell Stryker just exactly where he could shove his oath.

Just a little background, Shaw as emperor is based on the Emperor Domitian, who believe me was one crazy S.O.B. The Colosseum was started by Domitian's father Vespasian and finished by his brother Titus. This fic starts off around 81 A.D. And also, just go with the fact that half the characters have english names and the other have Roman ones. 


	4. Chapter 4

Yaay, new chapter. And seriously, all your reviews have been amazing. I really can't express how incredible it makes me feel to read all your responses. *hugs all of you*

Warnings: Basically same as the first, but there is some serious violence in this chapter (to be fair it's the Colosseum, what else can you expect). Also at the end there is a reference to the liberties they took with slaves. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: Still own nothing, although I'm sure you can imagine how much I wish I did.

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><p>Erik P.O.V.<p>

It was weeks before I had healed enough to pick up a sword and start training. My fellow gladiators were slaves and petty criminals, the lowest of the low. I had slipped into their ranks with ease, just another thug with Stryker's crossed-swords branded on the inside of his arm.

I had meant it when I told Stryker he could go to hell, I really did. But the swords felt familiar in my hand and really, anything was better than the mines.

My first fight had come almost exactly five months after my failed execution. Standing in the dim passageway underneath the arena, surrounded by a dozen others, I swore to myself that I would not fight for Stryker. But once I had been pushed outside, surrounded by the roaring crowds, blinded by the unforgiving sun and facing the tall Thracian I had been paired with, the animalistic rage inside me uncurled itself and stuck out.

The next thing I knew I was standing on that godforsaken sand, covered in another man's blood, with the crowd's cheers ringing in my ears as they threw down coins and rose petals in appreciation.

That night I drank myself into a stupor, throwing my mug at anyone who dared approach me with congratulations for my fight.

"We'll get you a real fight next time, a solo one," Stryker had told me, as he patted my shoulder appreciatively. "Something in the upcoming games, if I can convince Marko." Which was why I was now walking, once again, into the arena of the Colosseum, this time on my own.

As I entered under the arches the games announcer shouted, "From the far off wilds of Germania, I give you Magneto, playing the part of Achilles, the world's greatest warrior!" I pushed down my visor and began slowly releasing my furious bloodlust from its cage.

"And, from the kingdom of Amazonia, I give you Achilles' challengers, the Queen of the Amazons and her champions!"

I faltered. The gate on the opposite side of the arena opened and I found myself facing a group of five women. They were bare-breasted, no doubt for the audience to leer at, dressed only in simple leather kilts with gold anklets and plumed helmets. All holding bright swords and crescent-shaped shields, their mouths set into hard, determined lines.

What rage I had quickly fled, leaving me cold and shaking. Dropping my sword point, however was a mistake, as the leader immediately let out a battle cry and launched herself at me, catching my shoulder, the others falling into line behind her.

"God damn it" I muttered.

I picked them off one by one, killing the smallest one first. She couldn't have been older than fourteen. They struck more with desperation than skill, and I put them down as quickly and painlessly as I could. They fell in slow motion, each stroke lasting to me a millennium.

The leader, on the other hand, knew what she was doing, and if she had rallied them and charged as one, they might have brought me down. Her sword clashed against mine again and again, and I saw through her visor that her eyes were huge and wild.

I finally knocked her sword from her hand and slammed my shield up against her unprotected chest. Her neck and back arched in agony before she crumpled to the sand like a rag doll.

But she wasn't dead. Not yet. As I stepped forward, sword raised in preparation for slitting her throat, a cry rose from the stands.

"Mitte! Mitte!"

I froze, looking around almost dumbly. The audience's chanting assaulted my ears, every single voice calling for the same thing: mercy for the last of the Amazons.

Paying them no more attention I turned and crouched next to the broken woman, sliding my arm behind her shoulders and pulling her up, trying desperately to ignore the all the blood. Her eyes, which I could now see were incredibly blue, roved around us, before finally landing on mine.

"Please," she gasped, clutching at my arm.

Choking on her own blood, she asked again, "please." I finally realised what she wanted.

Picking up my sword, I placed it against her neck, and while starring into those now soft and desperate eyes, I drew my arm swiftly across.

From the stands there was a moment of dead silence, as I placed the cold body on the ground and rose to my feet. I pulled off my helmet and threw it aside, glaring up at the crowds, still covered in blood.

Then, like a wave of sound, a great roar rose from the stands. Thousands of Romans were getting to their feet, all of them applauding. They shrieked out my name and threw coins and flower petals down into the arena.

It was then, surrounded by thousands of people crying my name, and the bodies of five dead women, that I wept.

Charles P.O.V.

"Did you see him Charles?" Cain asked me. "He was incredible, he way he just mowed those Amazons down. And he doesn't do it for the glory, I could tell. The way he looked so disdainfully at the crowds. No, he does it because he enjoys the killing, even women. Far more interesting than Belleraphon let me tell you. He was always too civilised. Did you know they're calling him Magneto the Barbarian? I'm going to convince Father to hold a feast, and invite Stryker and his gladiators. They're bound to be more interesting than his usually guests."

Yes, I had indeed seen him, the slave who had taken down more than a dozen guards, was saved by the Emperor and was now the star of the arena. But I saw far more than Cain did. Magneto, as everyone was now calling him, clearly hated the praise the crowds had heaped on him, but he certainly didn't enjoy killing those women. He had made those women's deaths as quick as possible and when the crowd had been calling for mercy for the leader that is what he had given her.

"Do you find him handsome Charles?" Cain's question startled me out of my musings.

"Oh don't give me that look. I saw your face while he was fighting. It's no surprise really, rough types always appeal to those with lower instincts, and I know for a fact you spread your legs for my father easily enough" he laughed. "Well maybe you'll get a chance to meet the great Magneto in person once I manage to convince father and Stryker."

For some reason, I didn't like the sound of him name in Cain's mouth.

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><p>A.N – There were rules in the gladiatorial games that would have prevented fighting against women, but it was such an incredible image in the book and was mentioned in the kink meme prompt that I had to include it.<p>

Mitte-mercy.

Anyway, please review and more coming soon.


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